


Moonless

by jumbi



Series: Filling the Void [8]
Category: Super Paper Mario (Game)
Genre: Gen, Halloween Special, Mental Health Issues, They all need a nap, Vampires, i can still make jokes about coffee shop aus right?, mild violence, pregame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 05:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19078543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumbi/pseuds/jumbi
Summary: on a dark, secluded mountain trail, our trio of heroes encounters one of the ancients, who is lost and must be escorted to the next town. nastasia and o'chunks just want a quiet night of travel, but the prognosticus seems bent on stirring up trouble with the addled count.





	1. Dusk

**Author's Note:**

> this halloween special takes place in my larger comic story "filling the void". it takes place between scenes 60 (in which the count reveals he can see the future after several sleepless nights, and o'chunks makes a decision about what to do with him) and 61 (in which o'chunks makes his first attempt at getting the three of them into an inn for some rest).  
> in this continuity, nastasia is a vampire who previously worked in a crowded colony before joining the count.

It was well into autumn in this world. The leaves were brilliant shades of red and orange and had turned the whole mountainside into a sunset. The color was lost on O’Chunks, in the night, but Nastasia kept her head turned upward, watching the dry leaves rustle against each other. The hazy clouds and the unnaturally muggy air reminded her of when she’d died. She wasn’t sure if this world had a moon, though. She remembered the moonlight.

There wasn’t much to talk about, that night, so the three of them walked together quietly. Nastasia had offered to lead the way in the dark- no point in asking O’Chunks to stay in front.

“ _Count Bleck does not see why his two minions decided to waste time on this frivolous endeavor_ ,” the Count spoke up from behind her. He’d already said that, twice now. She sighed. He might be getting sick. She could practically hear O’Chunks shrug behind her, but she knew the Count’s focus was on the pages, so the gesture was only to himself.

Ignoring him didn’t always work, but Nastasia didn’t have the energy to do the song and dance again. And- yeah, the Count repeated himself.

O’Chunks groaned, trying to remember what he’d said last time. “I told yeh, I… was about teh… hurl? Issat what I said?”

The Count must have nodded, because he continued after a pause. “… If we teleported even one more time today.”

“ _Count Bleck worries about the future, if the minions cannot handle such a small discomfort,_ ” he replied, comforted. Nastasia blinked. Comforted?

“Thanks fer caring, Count,” O’Chunks sighed. He yawned. “Don’t know what we’d do without yeh.”

There was another pause. Nastasia didn’t bother saying her line. The weather was making her uneasy. Needed to keep her attention on those swaying branches.

The Count repeated himself expectantly, almost ending his sentence on a question. Nastasia gritted her teeth. Anything could be lurking along this trail. Maybe it would have been better to stomach the portal.

“ _Maybe next time,_ ” the Count prompted her, gently.

“Maybe next time,” she finally agreed. The Count went quiet again, for now, satisfied with only the beginning. Maybe he just wanted to hear them talking. She hummed under her breath to distract herself from the quick slap of guilt.

That was when she spotted the cloaked figure at the side of the road, in the distance. She tensed and motioned for O’Chunks’ attention. “Someone’s ahead.” The man was tapping a dark lantern. He looked up as they approached and raised his hand.

“Hello!” he called. “Can you help me?”

Now that he was looking in their direction, Nastasia noticed his eyes had a faint glint to them. Very dim, but similar to the Count’s warm glow.

“Hello!” O’Chunks replied. He was squinting in the darkness, straining to make out any details under the shroud. The man had fair features- nothing worth reporting. Nastasia estimated he was a little smaller than the dark cloak made him look. The Count always cut a more intimidating figure under his own. “What do yeh need?”

Nastasia folded her hands behind her back, to hide her nervous wringing. She felt the Count’s fingers brush against hers and froze. He hadn’t done  _that_  in…

“My lantern’s gone out and I can’t see the trail,” the stranger was saying. “I was hoping to make it to Celestic in one go…”

“Ah, we’re headin’ that way,” O’Chunks said brightly. “Yeh could join us fer the night. We’re stoppin’ in a few hours, though, so yeh’d ‘ave to wait ‘til tomorrow to get there.”

“That would be  _so_  helpful,” said the stranger. “Thanks, stranger. I’m Doyle.” He held out his hand.

O’Chunks took it, and perhaps his grip was too solid, because Doyle flinched. “O’Chunks. This ‘ere’s Nassy, and the blue guy is the Count.”

“Nastasia will be fine,” she corrected. O’Chunks grimaced apologetically.

“The Count, huh? Just a title?” Doyle leaned over, staring at the Count. Nastasia checked over her shoulder. He was mechanically flipping pages in the Prognosticus. Either the Count remembered he didn’t need his hands, or the book grew irritated with him, because the pages began flipping themselves. O’Chunks insisted the book was inanimate, but Nastasia could swear she saw it looking at her sometimes.

“Th’Count’s not usually one t’respond much,” O’Chunks explained.

“He’s a little occupied,” Nastasia said.

Doyle shrugged when the Count did not acknowledge his presence. And with that, they continued. Now Nastasia had to pay attention to one more thing. At least O’Chunks was keeping his eye on the traveler for her.

“So what brings you three down this dark path so late at night?” Doyle asked. She heard the clank of O’Chunks’ bag as he shifted its weight. Her own shoulders were starting to ache under her backpack. But it would be another two hours before it would be reasonable to set up camp and make dinner. Else the Count would get restless.

O’Chunks grunted. “Seein’ the sights. I heard good things about th’tourist stops o’er there.”

“Interesting. I heard there wasn’t much to the town at all, actually. I was only passing through, myself.”

O’Chunks’ voice took on an edge that Nastasia barely picked up. “Well, when things’re slow as they are with us, yeh take what yeh can get.” Whatever he didn’t like would have to wait until later. They wouldn’t be able to signal effectively in the dark directly in front of the traveler. In the meantime, though, he needed her to keep a lookout. He could guard the Count. She was wary- it usually took far longer for O’Chunks to decide he didn’t like someone.

“Hey, Count,” Doyle’s tone remained lighthearted. “Are you some kind of caster?” There was an awkwardly long pause. “Magic? You know?”

“I told yeh,” O’Chunks started. “He doesn’t-“

“ _Count Bleck does not see why his two minions decided to waste time on this frivolous endeavor_ ,” he interrupted. Nastasia frowned, sweeping her gaze across the branches overhead, shoulders tensed. He was unusually lucid tonight, if he was  _effectively_  recycling his sentences. Risky, around a stranger…

O’Chunks made a sniffing sound. “Be nice, Count, eh? Doyle’s a guest.”

“That’s an interesting book. Is it part of you or something?”

The Count’s voice took on an odd, hollower tone. “ _One could say that. Count Bleck acts for the Prognosticus. He is chosen to carry out its instructions._ ”

“… Why?”

“ _Bleh heh heh heh… He is powerful and obedient. The two most important traits for a faithful servant._ ”

Nastasia’s head instinctively turned toward the ground. O’Chunks stumbled and scuffed his boot against the dusty path. Keeping a lookout was becoming an almost impossible task. What was going on back there?

“ _The traveler will have many more questions. But he will only find answers later._ ”

“Count!” O’Chunks cut in merrily. “What d’yeh think we should cook up fer dinner tonight? We should make our way through those ‘eavy cans o’soup, yeah? Up t’yeh!”

The Count abruptly went quiet. Nastasia heard a quiet pat as O’Chunks kneeled and caught the Count’s dropped book before it hit the ground.

“Eh, worth a try,” he said. She frowned.

“Soup?” Doyle prompted, the subject successfully changed. “I’m a little picky… What kinds have you got?”

“We’ve got th’bases covered,” O’Chunks said. “Vegetable, chicken noodle, bean, broccoli…”

Nastasia snuck a look at them over her shoulder while Doyle and O’Chunks bickered about what would be best for dinner. However the Count had been feeling earlier, he was clearly exhausted now, staring rigidly ahead. O’Chunks was nervously raising his arm behind the Count every now and then, trying to herd him forward just a little faster. Doyle noticed and tilted his head. Nastasia bristled. Her fingers ached to reach for her glasses, but the other two were facing her too. O’Chunks wouldn’t approve anyhow. She returned her attention to the dark trees ahead. Overhead, an owl called.

“How powerful is the Count?” Doyle eventually asked.

“We, uh, don’t actually know,” O’Chunks replied. Nastasia imagined him rubbing the back of his head.

“He looks, almost, arcane-based,” Doyle mused. “Never seen it before, in all my years.”

O’Chunks grunted.

“It’s been a lot of years,” Doyle clarified. “I’m one of the Ancients. I’m really powerful, too, you know.”

“Issat so.”

“Have you ever taken a caster’s test? It can tell you how much damage output you’ve got.” There was no reply; Nastasia assumed he had again addressed the Count. “I scored the highest in my class. But I bet yours is even higher.”

O’Chunks would be out of his depth on this topic. Nastasia had no idea how to respond, either. She doubted the Count would have known what Doyle was talking about, if he was awake. She had figured he was one of the Ancients. His eyes gave him away. She idly watched a deer hop away into the night, farther than her eyes could pierce the darkness. Doyle kept rambling about his test scores- the subtle threat wasn’t lost on either of them. She could only hope he was intimidated by their mistrust. It was easy to regret travelers’ customs, but if she’d been lost alone on a mountain she would have wanted anyone to walk with her too. It was too important to keep those rules across all the worlds. She instead found herself wondering if the Count had ever been on the other side of this situation, back when he was alone. There wasn’t really a way to find out, now.

“So what exactly are you?” Doyle finally asked. She heard O’Chunks jolt. She hadn’t been keeping track of his lecture either.

“Human,” O’Chunks offered dubiously.

“No, I mean, the Count.”

“We don’t know,” Nastasia said.

“You really don’t know anything about this guy, do you?” Doyle scoffed. “Why doesn’t he just tell you?”

“It’s ‘is business, not ours,” O’Chunks’ voice came in lower and quieter.

“Why don’t you just tell them all this stuff they need to know?” Doyle asked, oblivious to the warning, or ignoring it. But it was all the same to the Count. Just noise. Doyle muttered something under his breath.

“Nassy, we need to stop fer the night,” O’Chunks said, a few minutes later. “Th’Count cannae keep walkin’.”

“Alright, then we can set up camp for now,” she agreed. “Doyle. Can I delegate starting a fire to you?”

“Sure thing,” Doyle cracked his knuckles, preening.

She hoped giving him something to show off with would keep him quiet for the time being. At least while they took care of the tent and dinner. The only sounds she had to worry about were the owls and whatever small creatures hustled through the underbrush. Having a light source besides the Count’s eyes brought O’Chunks some relief. They coaxed the Count into eating while Doyle watched, panther-like, eyes glinting in the firelight. That couldn’t be helped. He could at least maintain the illusion of self-sufficiency when reminded repeatedly to eat. And appearances were their first line of defense.

Already, though, she knew the appearance wasn’t good enough. Doyle could see the way the Count hobbled along, the careful way she and O’Chunks moved around him, practically carrying him. Vulnerable. Her only consolation was that they didn’t have much worth stealing. She was only worried about the maps and the Count’s possessions. Doyle wouldn’t get too far, rifling through their bags, but the Count’s wand was easy to quickly grab and escape with.

“I’ll take first watch,” O’Chunks announced as he took the bowls to rinse.

When Nastasia took hold of the Count’s hand to help him up and lead him to the tent, Doyle opened his mouth. She cut him off. “Yeah, so, the longer you keep us up, the longer it will be in the morning before we can get moving again. ‘K?” He closed his mouth and narrowed his eyes, but let the two of them go.

-

So it was just Doyle and O’Chunks.

O’Chunks sized up his opponent silently, his hands working at the dishes on autopilot. Running his towel over the inside curve of the bowl and then the outside was second nature by now. He liked to think he would have made an intimidating bartender. Maybe in a coffee shop. But alas, that was for another lifetime.

Doyle was prodding at the fire idly with a stick, the same way Nastasia did when something was on her mind. Calculated jabs that teased out bright embers.

“What were yeh doin’ out on the mountain all on yer lonesome?” O’Chunks asked, his brow furrowed. He wished his eyes worked better, so it would be less obvious that all of his attention was on Doyle. Escalating tension would only start conflict. And none of the three of them had the energy for that. He just wanted to have a not unpleasant night and get the stranger out of their business.

Doyle smirked and threw the stick into the fire, tracking the embers up into the smoke. The wind carried it east. “I’ve been traveling for a long time. Years and years… I like to see what’s out there. Make just enough to get by, live off charity, move on. I don’t stay long enough to fall in love.”

O’Chunks nodded knowingly. “A vagrant. Seems t’be workin’ for yeh, other than yer, uh, lantern problem.”

Doyle scoffed. “I’ve needed a new one. I keep thinking a spell will light it right up. It’s been spotty with accepting magic.”

It was blessedly quiet for a moment. O’Chunks wondered when he’d gotten so grouchy. Nastasia appreciated a good moment of silence, and the Count… Well, he hadn’t been around someone so insistent on talking in quite a while.

“How about you three?” And it was over. O’Chunks shrugged.

“We’re… lookin’ for a cure for the Count,” he said, only hesitating a moment.

“Yeah, something’s really wrong with that guy.”

O’Chunks frowned. “We’re makin’ it work.” He fussed over the last bowl to hide his scowl.

Doyle tilted his head. “Are you, though? Or are you just carrying around some kind of flesh vessel that has no consciousness?”

O’Chunks startled, then narrowed his eyes. “… There’s a reason yeh left yer home. Top o’ yer class.”

He shrugged. “Aren’t we all running from something?”

That gave O’Chunks some pause. It was easy to call any motion from place to place “running from” the past. He wondered if that’s what he was really doing, out here, with Nassy and the Count. But he shook it off. Doyle seemed like the kind of guy to conflate “moving on” with “running away” if it put his opponent at a disadvantage.

When he didn’t respond for too long, Doyle shrugged again. “Well, I’m beat. Thanks for keeping watch. I’m going to hit the hay.” He stood, brushed himself off, and strolled to the tent. O’Chunks cleared his throat and straightened his back, letting his broad shoulders and broader chunks do the talking. Doyle got the message and shrank back from the tent’s entrance. He dug his sleeping bag out of his backpack and curled up beside it instead.

O’Chunks rubbed the back of his head. He wasn’t sure how he was going to keep his eye out into the wilderness  _and_  within the campsite. Maybe there was a way to position himself better. He started packing up the cooking equipment to clear up the space. At least the other two could get some rest.

  -

Darkness. The silence was overpoweringly loud. The endless void of ink choked everything. Too heavy to move in. Waiting to wake up. It would be an eternity and an instant at once.

There was a figure, walking in the void. Recognition… No, too difficult. Just watch.

It was poking at the nothingness, examining the nothingness it stood on. “You  _are_  empty, aren’t you…” it mused, rubbing its chin with a finger. It pulled its hood back. Pointed ears. Something familiar. “I thought I could talk to whatever was possessing you. But do you even have that?”

A strange figure. He did not belong here. Very unusual, for a figure to be in the void… He was from somewhere. Somewhere else.

“Hmm, no, not empty… I can feel your unease.” The figure stopped and folded his arms behind his back, grinning. “You weren’t listening, earlier, but you are now, aren’t you?”

He did not belong. He belonged somewhere else. Not here. He should not be here. The figure tilted his head. He was playing a game. But this was not a game. “You don’t know how to make me leave.” Matter of fact. Threatening.

The void shifted. The ink thinned. The figure’s grin widened. “Yeah, come out of hibernation for a minute. I want to see something. If you’re not being possessed…” The figure waited as the fog thinned.

Clawed at the darkness, letting it come away in wet shreds. “It’s funny,” the man confessed. “I’ve met so many people. But no one with such powerful magic.” He paced around upon the void. Have to work faster. Get him out. “Made a living off what I could take. And people will pay! It’s easy, when you’re as strong as me.”

Wrenched at the ground. The man stumbled, but kept his footing. The claws left streaks of dim, foggy colors. Nothing distinct. “But you? You’re  _valuable_. Just by yourself. So is your book, but, I get the feeling it would kill me. You’re harmless.”

He was so small. It would be easy to just pluck him off the ground. But that wouldn’t make him gone. Just in the air.

“You’re… descended from the Ancients, aren’t you? Some kind of derivative tribe. What happened to you guys?”

Could the void swallow him, if he were pushed into the ground? The figure started laughing, nearly hysterically.

“You really can’t touch me! You can’t  _do_  anything. Not in the real world, not in your own mind. What are you, some kind of man baby? Why do the other two keep you around? They must be so embarrassed for you.”

Stop. Frustrated. Vast. Powerless. What was happening? Would he go away, if left alone?

The man sighed and deflated. “I guess there’s not much fun to be had in teasing a crazy idiot. There’s no thrill to it. You’re too easy. I’ve made up my mind, anyhow.”

The void washed away into dimness. The Count squinted blearily. That was… Not quite a dream. That was…

The stranger!

The Count struggled to get his arms arranged to roll to the side. It felt as though he were outside his own body, in a way, watching himself idly from behind glass. The extra degree of detachment made his movements clumsy and delayed. What to do about the stranger? He was so uncoordinated. He huffed, frustrated. Where was the book? It would fix this-

A deep sound rattled him. The general. What was his name…? No time. He could help. He helped, before. He was good. The Count limply slapped his tingling hand against the general’s shoulder. He was under some kind of thick cloth.

_Sleeping bag_ , his addled memory helpfully supplied. He had some choice words for his memory. It really needed a talking-to…

Can’t get distracted. The world spun and colors ran together. He had to warn the general before the fog descended again. He patted the sleeping bag again. No, that was the wrong motion. Do a jabbing one. No, with fingers. A sharp poke.

_What an odd word_ , his mind thought giddily. How strange, to find himself awake at this hour, in this tent, with this random person. Of all the people in all the worlds, and all the places to be… What brought him all the way here?

He panted with the exertion of staying focused. His hand felt oddly shaped, completely useless for this task it was not designed for. Not designed for poking. Or for doing things. It was designed to simply be in front of him sometimes. Right…?  _Poke harder!_  He raged at himself.  _The general must know of the danger-_

He froze. The stranger was standing over him, in the tent, his eyes glinting. Was this really happening? It was so strange. Who was this man? Why did they pick him up? He was casting a spell now. Exhaustion washed over the Count. He needed to… get the general’s attention, or make a noise, perhaps… but his eyes were closing on their own.

As his vision faded, he saw a movement. Someone had thrown open the entrance to the tent. The sound was so muffled. That was… with a pang the Count realized he couldn’t remember her name. But she was on the man’s back. As they struggled, the blanket of exhaustion lifted and he could move again. The Count batted at the general’s face. He grunted angrily.

The woman bit down into the man’s shoulder and he shrieked. That roused the general- with startling speed he rolled up on his knees and slammed his fist into the man’s gut. He staggered back. The Count wiggled backward, toward the back corner of the tent, trying to get out of the general’s way. Still uncoordinated. The man gasped for air and reached into his cloak. He pulled out an ornate, shining dagger.

A knife.

Time was wrenched from the Count’s mind, and everything was lost to the descending haze.

  -

Nastasia was thankful that O’Chunks had punched the scream right out of Doyle. She was clinging to his back, weighing him down as he swiped his knife wildly back and forth. Lines of light shot out of the blade, tearing into the fabric of the tent and ripping long slashes across the canvas. Right through the rain cover and out into the dawn sky. She was having trouble keeping a grip on his shoulders- she had bitten right through his cloak and the blood was making him slippery. His flailing was getting her tangled up in his torn cloak and the torn tent.

O’Chunks rolled forward into a crouch and jabbed forward with his long arm, trying to get the dagger out of Doyle’s grip. Doyle dodged and stepped back again. He tripped over the tent entrance and fell back on top of Nastasia.

She gasped for air. He was a lot heavier than he looked. She moved to push him off of herself, but he rolled and they grappled at each other. In a flash he had her pinned. He drew back the dagger and drove it into her neck. Nastasia choked.

Then, abruptly, he was gone. Nastasia blinked, dazed. O’Chunks was standing over her… she followed the motion of his arm. He had slapped Doyle clear across the campsite into a tree, where he lay motionless.

O’Chunks looked devastated. He was trembling as he stared down at her, eyes wide. Nastasia groaned airlessly and felt around her chest, up to her neck. The handle was sticking out, but the blade had been driven through into the ground. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. It needed to come out.

He had fallen to his knees beside her. “Nassy…” he whispered. Nastasia side-eyed him in confusion.

… Oh.  _Oh_.

She couldn’t shake her head with her neck pinned, so she pointed at the blade’s handle insistently. There was really no calming O’Chunks down while she couldn’t talk or move, though, so while she waited for him to get over the shock she struggled to pull it out herself. But- yeah, it was too painful, jostling it like that. She needed a strong, quick tug.

O’Chunks finally noticed her tapping her fingers impatiently, one hand resting on the other over her stomach. He looked like he had a lot of feedback to give, but couldn’t decide which comment to go with, so he just yanked the knife out. Nastasia choked and gasped, covering the hole with a hand as she crawled over to her blood supply in the bag. Over by the Count. She waved her hand toward him before she dug through her bag.

“’E’s fine,” O’Chunks stammered, still struggling to keep up. “J-jus’ out of it.” The Count was shivering as if he’d been dunked in ice. O’Chunks gently pushed the Count up into a sitting position, but he slumped right over without even trying to support himself, so O’Chunks fixed the clasp on his cloak and let him lie down. He would at least warm up that way.

She kept her hand over the hole, but when she tried to talk she realized Doyle had torn right through her windpipe. It really smarted. She rubbed it and winced. It was going to be hard to talk, but she needed to debrief her teammate. The extra blood was already starting to seal the tears, but it would take days to fully heal.

“Yeah, so,” she paused and coughed. She spat stray blood on the ground. Hers. O’Chunks turned to face her, a hand still on the Count’s side. “First things first. I’ll be fine. Just need blood and time. But we’re in trouble.”

O’Chunks frowned. “Iss’e dead? ‘E was traveling alone…”

“Hope not. Please check.”

He stumbled over to Doyle’s crumpled form, his knees still shaking, and crouched next to him. “… Yeah… ‘e didn’t make it.”

Nastasia winced behind her glasses. Sighing would take too much effort, so she leaned back instead. “That’s bad,” she croaked.

“’Twere self-defense, Nassy…”

“No.” She shook her head stiffly. “I bit him. Right before. The bite was still potent. Yeah… This world’s going to have a vampire problem.”

“Oh…” O’Chunks went even paler.


	2. Dawn

O’Chunks sat with his head in his hands. He shivered in the cold wet air of the morning. His scars ached- it was going to rain. And their tent was in tatters. Without shelter… it was rough when the Count got sick, but if O’Chunks was out of commission, the other two would be left defenseless.

Nastasia was talking quietly, but he wasn’t sure if he had the strength to deal with vampires right now. Even under the bandages, the hole in her neck gave her voice an eerie, high-pitched wheeze. He thought he’d lost her… He’d been taking their safety for granted. Travelers’ customs or not, he’d just stupidly  _assumed_  he could deal with anything… And now she was hurt. And something had happened to the Count. He couldn’t say what.

He’d utterly failed.

“O’Chunks,” came Nastasia’s labored whine. “I need you to pay attention.”

He shook his head. “Yeah, Nassy.” He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Sorry.”

She nodded, once, curtly. “As I was saying, we need to pack up and leave. See if you can get the Count to make a portal. ‘K?”

“Yeah, al- … wait.” He sat up straighter. “Are yeh expectin’ us t’just  _leave_? With a vampire about t’be loose?”

Nastasia gritted her teeth. “Well, yeah.”

He held out his hand. “Nassy, yeh said when ‘e wakes up he’ll be hungry. He’s gonna run right fer that town o’er the mount. They won’t stand a chance!”

“They’ll learn. Not our problem.”

“It’s  _completely_  our problem, Nassy! ‘Twas my fault. I need t’make this right.”

Nastasia’s mouth drew into a thin line. He could tell she was staring at him, even with her head turned slightly to the side. Calculating. He gave her a moment. Worst case scenario, he’d just have to ask her what the Count would have wanted.

“… Fine. Listen carefully.”

The Count groaned weakly, so O’Chunks took a moment to water him while Nastasia plotted out the most efficient course for her lecture.

“Typically when vampires reanimate, they belong to whoever turned them,” she began. “Yeah, but, I don’t know how that process will work with your interference. No offense,” she added, when O’Chunks grimaced.

“When I was turned I was very young. Doyle seems to be in his prime. So, he won’t need as much time as I did to reanimate. I’ll give an E.T.A. of two days. We’ll have to keep constant surveillance on his body starting tomorrow morning. We should move him somewhere easy to keep track of, and easy to tell when he’s up.”

“’S fall,” O’Chunks mumbled. “The leaves are dry. Could you hear if he started moving in a pile?”

Nastasia tilted her head thoughtfully, then flinched at the tension in her neck and straightened. “It’s going to rain. We’ll need to move all that somewhere sheltered immediately.”

“Got it. Anythin’ else?” O’Chunks rolled forward to his feet and lumbered over to Doyle’s body.

“He’ll have acquired one vampire ability upon awakening,” Nastasia continued tightly. “No telling which one. And he’ll most likely have all his previous abilities. He’ll be more powerful than either of us right out the gate.”

“But we’re better prepared,” O’Chunks said, hoisting Doyle’s broken body over his shoulder. “Did yeh spot a good place fer this last night?”

“Yeah. And, yeah, he didn’t know how to kill me,” she hustled over to O’Chunks’ side. “I’ll show you.”

O’Chunks nodded.

“… We should bring the Count along. But, anyway, I think we can safely assume he has no idea what vampires are. He’ll instinctively avoid sunlight, and he’ll want blood, but otherwise, I think we have him, um, nailed here.”

The three of them backtracked down the path, Nastasia practically pushing the Count along from behind. He was barely afloat, his book directly behind his head. If O’Chunks’ hands weren’t already full between Doyle and his bag, he’d scoop the poor guy up in an instant. He’d have to give the Count a ride back to the campsite.

“Count,” O’Chunks muttered. He glanced over. No response. He’d have to try again later.

“Here,” Nastasia said, finally. She took the Count off the trail and down the slope a bit, carefully helping him down a short drop off a boulder.

O’Chunks frowned. “A hut.”

“It’s a shelter from the rain. Creaky and flimsy. All you’d have to do is block it off with some of these boulders and he’d have to make a whole lot of noise and effort just to get out.”

He hummed. It sounded solid enough. Best to get to work while the air was dry.

Nastasia surveyed the area while O’Chunks rolled rocks. The Count sagged lower to the ground, barely able to keep his head up. “Sit down, Count,” O’Chunks grunted as he passed. “Yeh don’t need to stand.”

He did as he was told.

That was a good sign. Maybe O’Chunks could tease a word out of him soon. In the meantime, Nastasia perched atop a boulder, hands folded behind her back. “Yeah, so, I set a few traps. Stakes. That kind of thing. We’ll want a lot of those, ‘k?”

He nodded. “I’ve got me wood-carvin’ knife back at th’campsite. They’re just slivers, yeah?”

“Yes, nothing fancy. Just make a lot of them.” She sniffed. “This wouldn’t have been a problem at all, back at home… We had lots of tools for dealing with rogue vampires. Couldn’t have them stepping in on our blood stock.”

“Your blood stock?” O’Chunks raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, the town nearby the castle. The castle had belonged to some feudal lord, a thousand years ago… The village had been part of his property. So it was easy to repurpose.”

O’Chunks kept silent as he rolled the last boulder into place. There was more to that story, and he didn’t want to give her an excuse to not tell it. She was staring down toward the Count from her perch.

“I had lived there, but I was too young when I died to know my way around when I started hunting. Orazio taught me how to get blood. He was… very pushy about it, though. I didn’t like making a fuss over it. It wasn’t a big deal. I think he just reveled in having an audience that didn’t know he was joking.”

“Was it normal, to be turned as a child?” O’Chunks ventured. He checked the crumbling windowsills of the hut to make sure they’d collapse under the weight of a man. This thing was coming down any day now anyway. Nastasia had made a real find.

“Oh, not at all. Maximoff had just had a craving for virgin blood, and I was the easiest catch. Never tasted the difference, myself. But, you know how bosses can get-“ she stopped herself with a grimace. She turned her scowl away from the Count.

“’E didn’t hear yeh,” O’Chunks said.

“Yes he did.”

“… He knows the difference ‘tween yer habits and what yeh actually think.”

“… Yes, he did.”

O’Chunks patted a boulder and stood to stretch his back. If he’d patted the hut’s wall it probably would have caved in. This was about the noisiest, most time-consuming trap to escape he could make on short notice with no tools.

“We’re done here. Yeah. Good hustle, everyone.”

O’Chunks stepped carefully over to the Count, brushing his hands together. Dirt sprinkled everywhere. “Can I pick yeh up?” He asked, on the off-chance he’d get an answer. The Count blinked once. “Don’t drop yer book,” he warned, before gently lifting the Count over his shoulder. He didn’t object. Getting back to the campsite would go about three times faster.

“Count,” O’Chunks started, quietly, once they were back on the trail.

The Count’s ear twitched against the side of O’Chunks’ head.

“Do you know what that guy was doing this morning? When he was in the tent with yeh?”

O’Chunks waited a while. Nastasia walked along behind. He figured she looked up at the Count expectantly, because he felt a shift in the Count’s weight.

“… S-spell,” he slurred.

“What kind?” O’Chunks asked. He blinked. “Eh, no hurry,” he added.

The Count mumbled something incoherent. His book sagged in the air, so O’Chunks nodded and Nastasia took it.

“Take yer time,” O’Chunks forced patience into his tone. At this point, they had a few days. But he was worried the Count would forget if he took too long to respond. “Did yeh catch that, Nassy?”

“No,” she replied. “But that’s something to work with. If he was just planning on taking something and running, he wouldn’t have wasted time with a spell.” She went quiet, thinking carefully.

O’Chunks yawned. The drizzle snuck up on them. His joints were stiff and ornery. Judging from his soft breathing pattern, the Count had dozed off. At least one of them was getting rest. Neither of them appreciated having their nights cut short. O’Chunks’ mind and limbs felt heavy, too. Especially after his workout at the hut. He couldn’t blame the Count for stealing a wink while he had the chance.

As they came up on the campsite, O’Chunks figured he could take a nap and then hit the strategy planning with Nastasia, but- oh. Right. The tattered shreds of the tent sat right where they’d left them. He heaved a heavy, weary sigh. Everything was damp and heavy and cold. He blinked down at Nastasia dumbly.

“Uh, what now?” he squinted, trying to get his gears moving again. She frowned thoughtfully, stepping over to the tent.

“… I guess… Try to rest, if you can. Do we have anything we can pitch up to sit under, for a while?”

O’Chunks chuckled. “I doubt we’d all fit under th’Count’s cloak.”

“We could unroll your sleeping bag. It’s too heavy to hold up, though. We’d just have to sit under it.”

“… I could put up with tha’ fer a few hours.” He set the Count down next to the bag and unzipped it, draping it across his arms. He held out his other arm for Nastasia to sidle under.

The next few hours were bleary and dark while he tried to doze in short bursts. He’d have to try to get the Count to mend the tent, if he could.

 -

“Absolutely not,” Nastasia snapped. It was still raining, even after all the time it took to move the campsite. They’d taken shelter under the thick trees near the hut, but there was no good way to dry off. The water dripped down her jaw and wetted the bandages on her neck, leaving them grimy and uncomfortable. Her shirt stuck awkwardly against her shoulders and hips.

O’Chunks took a deep breath. Nastasia widened her stance, just slightly, arms tight at her side. Blocking off the Count.

“Nassy,” O’Chunks warned. “We need to stay put on this mountain. ‘E can’t understand that. We haf’ta take th’wand fer a bit.”

“No.”

“Jus’ fer the two days-“

“No.”

“ _Nassy,_ ” O’Chunks roared. She heard the Count startle behind her. She remained rooted. “Th’Count’s not like he was. ‘E can’t understand. ‘E’ll just get movin’ the minute th’book tells ‘im to. We  _have_  t’stay here.”

“He’ll be-“

“’E cannae be reasonable, Nastasia. ‘E…” O’Chunks looked at his hands, then put them on his head and dragged them down his face. “’E does not think like us. Th’Count does not know what’s ‘appening. We have t’keep ‘im reined in fer now.”

“He’s not stupid.”

O’Chunks blinked, then scowled. “I did nae say that!”

“ _Count Bleck is stupid._ ”

“No you’re not, sir.”

“’E can keep th’book. But let me hide th’wands. ‘E can keep everything else.  _Please_.” O’Chunks had positioned himself carefully, she noted; kneeled down, hunched over, looking up at her.

She closed her eyes for a long moment, letting him think she was staring at him. But by now he could probably tell the difference. It wasn’t that she wasn’t  _aware_. But taking the Count’s wand was, in a way, directly admitting he couldn’t take care of himself in an emergency. A deep, hard, sharp part of herself would not allow that symbol of power and direction to leave the Count’s hand. Even though, for so long, he’d been so powerless and directionless…

She trembled and let her fists fall open. The Count hadn’t been able to take care of himself for a very, very long time. He hadn’t even spoken to her in  _so long_.

Even with her hands open, she felt tight. “’K,” she growled.

O’Chunks nodded once and leaned forward to dig through the Count’s bag. He didn’t notice; he was thumbing through his book, dead-eyed, with that artificial grin failing to mask his lack of life. O’Chunks wrapped the two wands together in some of the shreds of their tent and put them carefully in his bag. “I’ll get started on the stakes,” he offered, in apology. Nastasia couldn’t bring herself to move.

“ _’Best to make more of them than you expect to need,’ advised Count Bleck._ ”

“Thanks, Count.”

The Count’s smile grew just a degree less fake as O’Chunks arranged his bag. But Nastasia couldn’t help but wonder what the book was playing at. It had put time into getting Doyle riled up in the first place.

“You should rest, boss,” she said. His smile turned confused as she tugged his hood more securely over his head and tried to get him to lay back.

“So should you,” O’Chunks grunted, chipping away at one of the thick sticks they had gathered. Nastasia snorted.

“Yeah, ‘k.”

“… I don’t like this,” he admitted, thumbing at his reading glasses.

“We could still just leave…” She got her backpack arranged. The damp Count would have to make do as a pillow for now. She wasn’t really keen on laying her head in the wet dirt and leaves. He didn’t complain.

O’Chunks sighed and shook his head. “Running on empty like this. All three’f us are scrambling t’get any shuteye. That man seemed… much more put-together.”

“He didn’t have the Count to guard.”

“No, it’s more’n tha’… Can’t put me finger on it. Cannae even think straight like this. I’ve never been at such a  _mental_  disadvantage.”

Nastasia paused. “He won’t be very coherent, either, when he reanimates. Actually, he might not even be after human blood… He’ll want his own species.”

“Are you worried about th’Count?”

“Hm… No, I don’t think he’ll apply either.  _I_  never feel full after taking from him… But, just know we aren’t the only ones who can make careless mistakes.”

O’Chunks nodded. He started humming as he worked. Nastasia didn’t know the song, despite having watched him work for their entire journey so far. It seemed to complement the rain. She sat like that for a while, letting her thoughts fall unstructured. O’Chunks would pause, every now and then, to make some comment or other to the Count, and then resume his deep, slow hum. The Count remained motionless under her head.

It only felt like an hour or two, but it must have been much longer than that. Nastasia blinked up at the moonless clouded sky. Still humid, but with that feeling of relief in the air after a good rain.

“ _The general will have a bad feeling,_ ” the Count’s jagged voice snapped her awake. He had managed to sit up without jostling her.

“Yer right as kale in colcannon,” O’Chunks growled, leaned forward with his chin perched on his fist. He climbed to his feet with a groan. “I’m going t’check on th’hut, Nassy. Can yeh stay wit’ the Count?”

She frowned. “He’s not due for another day, O’Chunks. And you can’t even see that well in the dark.”

“’M takin’ me flashlight. I’ll be fine. Jus’ want to take a look.”

“If it’ll make you feel better,” she sighed, rubbing her eye and knocking her glasses askew. She tugged them back into place.

“What’s going on, Count?” She turned to look at him, once O’Chunks’ footsteps had faded. “Why is your book all over the place with this guy?”

The Count stared in her direction, eyes wide, head lolling just to the side as if he couldn’t hold it up straight. The light of his eyes left trails in the mist between them. His voice cut through the thick air in a lifeless monotone. “ _Team building exercise, dear assistant. Do try to keep up. The three of you are out of shape._ ”

Nastasia frowned. “What does that mean?”

Abruptly, the world spun, and then went dark.

 …

_Anastasia marched briskly down the carpeted hall, paying no mind to the ornate tapestries hung up on the walls. There was a loud, echoing bang across the stone, one after the other, not quite rhythmically. She hesitated a moment at the bottom of the staircase, eyeing the darkness above. There was another bang, so she started up the steps at the same pace._

_The bell tower. She’d never been up there. But it was her job to take care of the noise… by any means necessary. Her hands fidgeted around her new glasses, small and round. They gave her a small peep hole through her long bangs. As she neared the top of the final landing, she slowed to a creep. She figured it would be better to take stock of the situation, first. Her elder, her “supervisor,” had simply referred to the noise as “him.” Told her to be assertive and give him everything she’s got. It would be good practice. She wrung her hands and leaned around the doorway silently, glancing around the room._

_It was a vampire. The sight still made her shudder, the ghost of an old fear haunting her shoulders and hands. He was tall and stringy, all gawky angles under an outfit that even she could recognize was far too formal for the way he was standing. She tugged at the hem of her own sunflower dress. The others hadn’t managed to put together an outfit that fit her, yet. The blood stain had long faded, along with the smell of home. Her mother’s cooking. The mess her baby sister had made. That was another lifetime._

_The vampire hadn’t noticed her. He was pacing restlessly, stopping at the end of his loop to jerk forward. An explosion of red light shot out of his eyes and smashed into the nearest bell, the source of the unnatural banging and crashing._

_She bit her lip and waited for the ringing to quiet. “I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to, um, ring the bells,” she said. Her voice sounded so *tiny* after the bang._

_The vampire whipped around and she shrank behind the doorway. He blinked in confusion, hunched forward like that. “Are you the new one?” he finally asked._

_She nodded._

_“Come forward, peon,” he said imperiously, straightening and holding out an arm. Anastasia shuffled toward him obediently, her hands hovering around her glasses._

_He paused, looking past her. “They sent you up here by yourself?”_

_She wasn’t sure how to respond, so she just nodded again._

_He frowned down at her, his eyes narrowed. “They sent you up here to mind control me into shutting up?”_

_Nod._

_“By yourself?”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_He snorted. “Huh. Gettin’ you started early.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You shouldn’t be by yourself. You’re, like, three years old.”_

_“Seven, sir.”_

_“Do you want to be my sidekick?” He smirked mischievously._

_Anastasia paused. “I’ll do anything if it will get you to stop ringing those bells, sir,” she said._

_The smile grew warmer. “I’m Orazio Licastro. Under Maximoff, obviously.”_

_Her hands fell from her glasses down to her sides. “Anastasia Parris, under Maximoff. Sir.”_

_He nodded once, with too much energy. “Too long. We’ll workshop some nicknames. That’s enough bells… for tonight.”_

_“I can still take my glasses off, sir.”_

_“Sir. I like it. Call me that more.”_

_“Okay, sir.”_

_Orazio strode past her to the stairway, his hands folded behind his back. “I think we’re going to get along famously, Annie.”_

_“Please don’t call me that, sir.”_

_He laughed a hysterical, obnoxious shriek that echoed around the room and left her ears ringing as much as the bells had._

-

“Nassy.”

Someone had gently grabbed her shoulders and was shaking her. She didn’t have the energy to move.

“Nassy, wake up.”

It was like being smothered under a pillow made of rocks.

“Nassy, yeh gotta… Th’Count’s gone.”

With a huge effort, she forced her eyes open. It was the middle of the night. The moonless sky had cleared into a thin fog. The brightest stars just poked through, illuminating O’Chunks’ silhouette over her. But despite the rain passing, a sprinkle of water hit her face.

“Don’t cry, O’Chunks,” she mumbled. “It’s unprofessional.”

“Oh, thank the stars yer okay,” O’Chunks rubbed his eye. “I’ve lost yeh too many times today, hah…”

“Where’s the Count?”

“I can’t see good enough,” he sniffed. He flicked his flashlight, the beam crossing the ground where the Count had been. “He’s gone. Yeh might be able t’see…”

She turned her head and winced at the pain. She sighed and stood, to avoid moving her neck. The ground was scuffed and dirt had been thrown to the side, along with the Prognosticus. She leaned over to get a better look. A long flat trail led directly into the underbrush, where broken twigs had been scattered and blood dripped off one of the sharper branches. It looked like it had left a deep cut. She picked up the book and held it to her chest.

“… He didn’t wander off. He was dragged. What…”

O’Chunks winced. “I didn’t even hear ‘im, Nassy. The… the vampire’s gone, out of the hut. ‘E was nowhere t’be found. I can’t figure out how he got out. An’ I didn’t hear th’Count, if ‘e made a noise…”

The bells…

Nastasia frowned. “Yeah, there’s only a few powers he could have that would allow that to happen. How did he wake up so early?”

“Why didn’t ‘e kill yeh?” O’Chunks asked, his face serious. Nastasia touched the bandages on her neck.

“… I think he realized he can’t kill me the normal way,” she said. “Yeah, and, we have his dagger. I don’t know if he has anything else. He must have cast a spell. Why didn’t you search his body, O’Chunks?”

He looked down. “It’s dishonorable, to loot yer enemy. If ‘e died in a fair fight it’s respectful to leave ‘is weapons with ‘im when he travels to the Overthere.”

Nastasia groaned. “He was  _coming back_.”

He buried his face in his hands. “Nassy, I can’t… th’Count, if somethin’ happened to ‘im, I’d… Oh…”

She patted his shoulder insistently. “Not now. Later. We have to find him first.”

He looked down at her, anguish etched into his wrinkles. “Lead th’way.”

  -

The stranger was pacing back and forth, muttering. The Count didn’t understand much of it, just words here and there. The stinging pain was cutting through the fog, but he wasn’t sure how long that would last. Most sounds remained distant and murky, but every now and then the crunch of the man’s shoes against the forest floor or some small animal skittering in the bushes would pierce his ears. So, for now, he simply watched.

The man had his hands in his hair. “I thought you had a wand,” he complained. “A Wand of Fissures. Where did it go?” Nonsense words he didn’t recognize. The stranger narrowed his eyes at the Count. He licked his lips. He seemed much paler than the Count remembered. Ashen. His facial hair seemed to be the wrong color. And his eyes were wrong behind the iridescence.

“I wonder how much blood you’ve got in there. You’ve lost some…”

The Count sagged back against the tree he’d been tied to. He stared at the rope. Something about it… No, the thought was gone. He didn’t bother with it. The stranger was talking again, so he returned his attention to the erratic voice.

“What’s happened to me? Am I some kind of cannibal now?” He shook out his hands and sparks meandered out like fireflies. “I still have my magic.”

The Count found his thoughts wandering. The slash across his shoulder was keeping his mind tethered to his body, but it was so hard to make  _sense_  of it all. What was he doing out here? Had he always been traveling with this man? Why did the man keep looking at him with such hunger? Where were the other two…?

… The other two…?

Who? Who was he thinking of? There was someone out there, looking for him, he knew… Had it been this man? Had he been found?

He squinted his eyes shut. He needed the man to stop moving for a moment. He needed to gather his bearings. Just a moment.

Breathing. Cold, wet breath on his face. The Count flinched and opened his eyes. The stranger was right up against him. He shivered.

“I’m so hungry,” the stranger confessed. Up close, the Count could see his teeth were wrong, too. He couldn’t remember what the man had looked like, before, but something had changed… “It’s all I can think about. I don’t want  _you_ , but…” He ran his tongue over his teeth again. The Count leaned away, against the tree. It was as far as he could go.

Abruptly, the stranger’s clawed hands swept out and grabbed the Count around the shoulders. “ _Unhand Count Bleck,_ ” he stammered. But the only response he got was that cold breath.

“I… I probably shouldn’t be too hasty with you,” the stranger said, eyes wild. “I just need a little right now. A little blood. Then I’ll figure out what to do.” He yanked the Count forward with surprising force until he was straining against the rope and dug his fangs into the Count’s neck. The Count yelped.

They stood there for a moment, awkwardly, the man practically chewing on his neck. He growled in frustration and bit down harder. The Count could feel his neck bruising… and…

 _Where is Nastasia? She should be here. Where is she? Does she know to come here?_ The Count wondered desperately.  _Where is O’Chunks?_

First things first. He needed to throw off this stranger. He had gotten his fangs stuck in the tough spikes around the Count’s neck. It was a simple matter to throw him back with a wave of force. The vampire went flying into the bushes with a cry.  The Count struggled to get his hand turned around beneath the restraints until he could get his fingers around a coil. The knots and tangles came loose and fell around him. He stumbled- still uncoordinated. He’d have to get as far as he could. Already the world around him was growing unstable again…

He drew his hand along the rough bark of the trees as he passed, his claws leaving only shallow marks, his breathing ragged. His throat hurt too much to call out. He paused, for just a moment, considering his options. He could shoot up a flare! Of course-

Something knocked into him from behind, throwing him to the ground on his face. The Count struggled, but the creature pinning him- the stranger- was much heavier and stronger. The stranger got his hands around one of the Count’s wrists and wrenched his arm backwards. The Count writhed and cried out voicelessly.

One last-

No time to line it up. He’d just have to hope. A blast of light exploded out of his captive hand, firing up past the treeline with an echoing crackle. The stranger paused for a moment. The Count could hear his panting.

And then he laughed. “You missed! You had one shot and you blew it, you idiot! Incredible.”

The Count closed his eyes and accepted the terrible pain in his wrist as the stranger bit into him. With Nastasia, he was weakened and tired afterward, but perhaps after the vampire had his snack the Count could make another getaway until the others found him.

The others…?

His head grew light. It was as though the very ground under him was unstable and floaty. There was a weak tingling in the arm still trapped under him. This was… too much. He was losing too much blood. He was going to…

  -

“Did yeh hear that?” O’Chunks had whirled around, staring off into the dark treeline.

“Yes,” Nastasia replied, adjusting her glasses. She’d seen it, too, above the tallest trees, leaving a trail of smoke up into the sky. It had been a while since she’d last seen it, but the style was unmistakable. Blue and bright, ringed with red. She marched off into the brush immediately.

O’Chunks stumbled after her, unable to hide his heavy footfalls on the cover of leaves and twigs. Stealth was going to be off the table. “Issat…?”

Nastasia nodded. “The Count’s colors,” she said, when she realized O’Chunks couldn’t see her in the dark. The beam of his flashlight was pointed ahead, guiding the way. Even Nastasia was having trouble seeing this deep in the woods.

The quiet was eerie, as it often was when vampires were lurking. Poor O’Chunks was giving it his best shot at staying quiet, but he just couldn’t see where he was going.

“There,” she said, tugging on the hem of his shirt.

He paused and squinted into the darkness. “What?”

Nastasia hurried forward to better examine the ground. “Blood. Yeah, it’s the Count’s.” It had that sour quality. She guessed it was some kind of magic she always tasted. She felt a hiss building up behind her teeth. He was badly injured. Was he even still alive? If he wasn’t, their journey was going to be cut pretty short- there would be no good way for the Count to get blood for himself, and they’d always be in danger of hitting sunlight when they changed worlds…

Nastasia flinched when O’Chunks pressed his hand over her mouth. “Shh! Don’t scream.”

She didn’t realize she’d been making noise. She blinked and settled down.

“We haf’teh be smart about this, Nassy. Think about the plan. What should we do?”

She bristled and pushed his hand away. “We go with Plan B. Yeah, if the Count’s not conscious, just close or cover your eyes. ‘K?” She pulled a rough stake off her makeshift belt of tent shreds. “We’ll just get it over with. He’s got to be close.” O’Chunks flicked off his light.

The trail of blood was easy to follow, even only by smell. They crept forward through the night, O’Chunks’ hand on Nastasia’s shoulder, inching his feet forward so as to not disturb the loose twigs. Doyle wouldn’t be able to see any better than Nastasia, in this darkness- they had to be catching up. The trail grew fresh, after a few hushed minutes. She resisted the urge to call out for the Count.

When they heard strangled breathing nearby, she realized she wouldn’t have to. A dripping sound drew her attention upward. The Count was up the tree, draped across its branches. His wrist was loosely bandaged- too loose, judging from the steady drip. His mouth was open, but dark- she could make out only the ghost of a faint blue light behind his fangs.

A trap. Nastasia whipped off her glasses and spun around. O’Chunks had thankfully covered his eyes with his free hand when Nastasia had stopped. If the vampire was around, he’d…

There it was. A loud gasp, from off to the right. There was a long beep, and then the sound of shattering glass and a flash of light. Nastasia stepped forward.

“Come out,” she said. She fixed her glasses back in place.

She wasn’t ready for the broken metallic device that was flung her way and hit her over her brow. She staggered backward with a cry, right into O’Chunks.

Doyle jumped up on a nearby branch and hissed. He laughed. “Hypnotism? Is that the best you’ve got?”

He also wasn’t ready for the stake O’Chunks hurled at him as soon as the warrior could pinpoint his voice. It struck him in the leg, and he fell roughly out of the tree. He snarled.

“No,” O’Chunks replied, hesitating just a moment too long for it to sound confident.

“Well, it won’t happen again,” the vampire sniffed. O’Chunks simply threw another stake his way, but it flew through him and stuck into the ground with a wet  _thunk_.

“… Incorporeality,” Nastasia frowned.

Doyle showed all his teeth. “I suppose I should thank you for the upgrade,” he said. Entirely too confident. Nastasia waited to see what he’d do.

A fireball grew between his hands and launched at O’Chunks. The fire lit up the area for an instant- they were surrounded by thick, heavy foliage. It would slow them down tremendously, but all Doyle had to do to retain his mobility was make sure he didn’t fall through the ground. O’Chunks thankfully saw the attack coming and leapt to the side. He grunted as he landed in a thorny bush, but the fireball sailed past him and left a trail of scorched branches.

Nastasia tightened her grip on her stake. That was his trick. Okay. Her panicked thoughts cascaded through her head and down into her stomach, leaving behind a distilled pearl of a plan.

She circled Doyle while he threw spell after spell at O’Chunks. He was a much bigger target. But the vampire was far more awake and well-fed than either of them; he spotted Nastasia making her way to the Count’s tree and chased her away with a glob of magic that left the ground melted in a nasty ooze.

“Mine!” Came his shrill cry. “Not yours!” He climbed up into the tree, settling himself on a lower branch to overlook the two of them. He wasn’t getting too far on his bad leg.

Nastasia narrowed her eyes. He was wrong. The Count was  _hers_.

“What’re yeh doing, Nassy?” O’Chunks called. “What’s the plan?”

“Don’t die,” she yelled back.

Doyle laughed, filled with victory. He knew there was no way either of them could touch him, and Nastasia couldn’t get to the Count. All he had to do was land one shot. And if the sun came up, he’d have decent enough cover in the thick trees.

Nastasia could practically  _see_  the thoughts swirling around the man’s head. She stayed cautiously far from where he was perched, but close enough to dart in when the moment arrived. He wasn’t paying as much attention to her, having realized she’d spent her one trick.

O’Chunks’ old, worn body was tiring out. He didn’t dare stop for breath, but in the flashes of spell light Nastasia could see the sweat flying in beads off his arms every time he jumped or twisted out of the way. He had spotted her, too- he thankfully interpreted her silence and lack of activity as a plan and was hurling stake after stake at Doyle to keep his attention.

“Useless!” Doyle screeched at him. “Are you stupid? You’re never going to hit me! I’m invincible!”

If he could just hold out a few more minutes…

He zigged when he should have zagged. Nastasia flinched when he howled in pain, falling to the side clutching his arm. One of the rings was burnt with cracks of blue making their way out from the impact site like lightning. Acid. But he stayed on his feet, swaying, his arm hanging limp and useless by his side. He heaved a deep breath and grabbed at his stake supply. He was running out. Nastasia could see he only had three left.

Running the numbers in her head, she realized that would give her just enough of a window to run in and get behind Doyle. She bit her stake between her teeth and scrabbled up the tree, digging her tiny claws into the bark and cracking her nails. She lost a handhold dodging when O’Chunks’ throw went wide and nearly stabbed into her arm, but she forced herself to keep moving.

The Count was depending on her. She had to make the climb on schedule. Just stick to the schedule and everything would be fine.

“Give it up!” O’Chunks yelled, his voice hoarse, giving her a little more cover to hurry. “I’ll get yeh one of these times!”

“You’re out of ammo, moron!” Doyle called back. Nastasia clung to the tree at the base of the branch, quivering. Waiting.

O’Chunks feigned confusion and looked around dramatically. He needed to tone it back. “I’ll jus’… get me dropped stakes!” He dove forward, once he spotted a carved branch on the ground. Doyle sighed angrily and drew up his hands, charging another spell. He flickered.

That was it. He had run out of juice. Nastasia jumped forward and drove her stake into his back with all the force her tiny arms could muster. Doyle screamed and his spell went wild, vaporizing the tree just behind O’Chunks. He fell to his knees, hand over the back of his neck to shield from the flying bits of wood. Doyle twisted toward Nastasia, the end of the stake sticking out of his back.

But she’d missed his heart. She grimaced and pulled out her spare- the Count had advised making just a few more, after all- and drove it into the other side of Doyle’s chest. She felt the tiny  _pop_  of the sharpened wood’s point reaching his core. His glinting eyes widened, and he exploded into black shards that fell to dust before they hit the ground.

Nastasia watched the ashes, for a moment. Someday that would be her. Perhaps that was all that had become of Orazio, too. All a dead vampire could ever be was ashes. She couldn’t spare any more time to dwell on it, though- she needed to get the Count down. She climbed up to him, brushing away the little beads of blood that had welled up in the wound on her forehead.

She put her hand on his uninjured arm. “Sir.”

He moaned so weakly she barely heard it. She slowly pulled his cut wrist closer to tighten the bandage. The slash across his shoulder didn’t look good, either, but the bleeding had stopped.

O’Chunks stood at the bottom of the tree, looking up at them. “I only got one arm, Nassy,” he sighed. “I can catch th’Count, but yeh’ll haf’ta climb down yerself.”

“That’s fine,” she said, her voice clipped. He offered up his hand, his long arm reaching halfway to the Count’s branch. Once she was satisfied with the bandaging on the Count’s wrist, she gently nudged him off. O’Chunks caught him, careful not to jostle him.

“What was that?” O’Chunks eyed her, exhausted, as she lowered herself down the tree’s trunk. Her nails were shredded. “How did yeh know yeh could hit ‘im?”

“He was only a few hours old,” Nastasia explained. “His ability wouldn’t last more than a short time, especially since he was using it on his whole body.”

He grunted thoughtfully as he turned away to walk back, trying to figure out how to get the Count arranged with just one arm. She hustled to catch up, flicking on his flashlight and holding it out in front of herself awkwardly. She realized her hands were shaking and frowned. Thinking about Orazio’s certain death was far less agreeable than talking about his life, but she couldn’t seem to put it out of her mind. If the Count hadn’t survived the bite- all that would be left of him, too, was more dust.

“I can’t carry th’Count and me bag at the same time like this,” O’Chunks said, once they were in thinner forest. His loud, rough voice was a welcome interruption. Nastasia looked up at him when she realized his voice had been shaking. He was shivering. She eyed the acid burn on his arm, still hanging at his side uselessly. He glanced back down at her, forcing a wan smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “But methinks we ‘ave a tiny heal in me bag. We’d ‘ave t’split it, me and th’Count.”

She turned her attention to the Count, limp in O’Chunks arm. The light of his mouth hadn’t grown dimmer, but he hadn’t begun to recover, either. At every shaky, labored breath, Nastasia ached to make it better for him, to make him more comfortable somehow. But he remained beyond her reach.

“What were we even doing on this mountain?” Nastasia grumbled.

O’Chunks huffed a tired laugh. “T’wasn’t worth it, whatever it was,” he agreed.


End file.
